


Won't You Come Over

by MarauderCracker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (everyone is super queer though), Background Erica/Boyd, F/F, Mentions of seizures and asthma attacks, Mild drug use (weed), The (demi) Romantic Teen Comedy to end all teen rom coms, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, background Derek/Braeden, background Malia/Scott/Stiles, fluff and friendship, grey-ace/demi-ro Cora, human!AU, not very punk!au, pansexual/homoromantic Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While most of the world tends to be as different from romantic comedies as anything could be, small town high schools are an annoying exception. Cora thinks it's annoying, boring and gross as hell, just like most romantic bullshit. And still, the endlessly clichéd plots of teen flicks chase after her. "<i>What? You didn't know about Cora's legendary non-crush on Lydia Martin?</i>" Erica asks. Cora glares at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't matter (acoustic version)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic got completely out of hand and here we are, over 10k later and after having annoyed all of my friends to death, with The (demi) Romantic Comedy to end all Teen Rom-Coms. A million thanks to my lovely (and super last time, what an angel!) beta, [Fyxen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fyxxen). Also, to the idiots who also helped me read it over, cheered me on and generally made me get through this tiny beast, being [Michelle](http://theeggcamefirst.tumblr.com), [Pho](http://phoenn.tumblr.com) and [Yellow](http://yellowis4happy.tumblr.com).
> 
> I hope my giftée, [Margaret](http://ken-yukimura.tumblr.com) likes it as much as I liked it at the best moments. If you hate it as much as I did at times, I'm very sorry. Also, of course, a hundred thanks to mod!Astrid but specially to the lovely Kassie, who was super understanding of my delays and my general stupidity. 
> 
> You can find the mixtape for this fanmix at the last chapter, or listen to it in 8tracks, [here](http://8tracks.com/maraudercracker/won-t-you-come-over). Also, you can find me in tumblr at @ **[queerhawkeye](http://queerhawkeye.tumblr.com)** , and are always invited to talk to me about badass BFFs Laura and Braeden; Latina!Erica Reyes and Stiles/Malia/Scott making out.

While most of the world tends to be as different from romantic comedies as anything could be, small town high schools are an annoying exception. Big corporations can operate without blushing assistants bumping into charming delivery guys every day; baristas don't get nearly as many phone numbers as movies suggest; and libraries have more people reading than clandestine lovers sneaking between the shelves. And yet, small town high schools seem to be cursed with the most clichéd of plots. It's boring as hell.

"I mean, isn't the whole social pyramid thing terribly outdated? Didn't they get the memo?" Stiles asks, making Erica snort. Malia, who's still confused about certain jokes, raises her eyebrows and repeats, "social pyramid?"

"You remember Mean Girls?" Boyd asks, making Malia smile and nods. She then looks around, brow furrowed, and turns back to the table. "But there aren't Plastics here, right?"

"Nah, it isn't exactly the same in every school," Erica confirms, but she tilts her head towards Cora and shrugs, probably expecting her to explain further.

“They’re being ridiculous. The whole thing is a collective delusion that only works because people uphold it." Cora looks at her cousin with a bored expression. "When I was in Chile, people who acted like these 'Plastics' didn't have friends, and in my school in Colombia everyone just stayed in their own group and didn't bother anyone else." Cora rolls her eyes in Stiles' direction, and goes back to sipping her latte in silence. Malia nods, but continues to look around the courtyard.

While Cora used to feel out of place in Beacon Hills High because of the many years she lived in South America, Malia is even more lost. She got lost in the woods when she was barely a child, after her family's car crashed, and somehow made it through ten years squatting in abandoned houses, pickpocketing to afford any food and making friends with addicts and mentally ill people who protected her when she couldn't take care of herself. She still has a hard time not taking other people's wallets out of pure instinct, but she's been back with her dad for almost a year now, and seems to be happy. Happy and really confused about high school hierarchies.

"Those are definitely the stoners," Malia finally says, and Cora follows the direction of her finger. A bunch of white kids in Jamaican tees and baggy beanies lay in the sun under a tree; and Cora can't help but smile. "Yeah, those are international," she assures. Malia keeps looking. "What was the name for people who like cartoons a lot?" She asks next, making Erica and Boyd look at Stiles and laugh. Stiles gives them the finger.

"Otakus? Nerds? Anyways, they like anime. Like Dragon Ball Z and shit," Cora says. Besides the geeky shirts and colorful hair, their table isn't very interesting. Cora finds them childish.

"Those are jocks," Malia continues, pointing towards the table where Jackson Whittemore sits. Everyone nods. "And cheerleaders," she adds. The white and red uniforms are easy to spot.

They play that game for a few more minutes, until they only have two tables left.

"What would we be, then?" Malia asks. Cora can't help but look at herself, at her friends. Based on Erica's carefully dyed red strands of hair, Boyd's band t-shirts and leather vest, and Stiles' stupid haircut with the sides shaved, Cora guesses they'd fall somewhere under the 'not very punk but kinda' category. She shrugs.

"We are the best people you will ever know," Stiles says. Erica's laughter makes a few people turn their heads towards them, but they don't care.

"What are the Mean Girl references for?" Scott asks just then, a bright grin on their face as they sit next to Stiles. Malia smiles brightly at them, and pushes Stiles out of the way to kiss them on the mouth. When Malia sits back again, Stiles pouts until Scott kisses him too.

"You three are gross. PDA is gross. Please stop," Cora complains. Stiles sticks his tongue out in her direction, and then turns back to Scott.

"We were trying to figure out where everyone fits in the greater Teen-Flick scheme of life," he explains, and Scott rolls their eyes. "We're the Token Queer Friend Syndicate," Erica suggests, grinning. Boyd’s laughter is almost a wheeze. 

"Wait, would they be the Plastics?" Malia asks, pointing eagerly towards the last table. Everyone turns around, then turn back towards her. Cora tries really hard not to laugh, but she just can't help it. A high-pitched giggle ruins her uninterested demeanor.

"I honestly don't think anyone in that group can be considered dumb, but I can see the parallels," Boyd admits, leaning back to look at their table of interest.

"Yeah, Mahaleani's biceps are full of secrets, that's why they're so big," Erica pitches. Cora has to cover her mouth to keep another girly giggle under control.

"Allison Argent is disgustingly wealthy because her dad is the owner of Argent Armory," Scott comments, their tone a little more serious.

"And well, Lydia Martin punched me in the face once," Stiles shrugs, "it was kinda awesome."

Cora grins at Malia, who seems amused but still a little confused. This new parallel might be the most amusing thing to happen to her since coming back from South America, bar none. She can't help but turn around on the bench and look at the 'Plastics'. Right at the best spot in the entire courtyard, sitting at the only table that is both shielded from any breeze by a nearby building and from the blazing sun by a small tree, the three of them sit. Mahaleani is leaning over his laptop, typing at an inhuman speed. On the other side of the table, Argent is writing something on the margins of a poetry book. Martin sits in the middle, heading the table with a royal profile and a giant book on astrophysics between her hands. The three of them sip their lattes with identical bored looks.

She thinks Danny Mahealani is interesting, really. And no, not like that. She can see the aesthetic appeal, but guys just don't do it for her. A pity, really, because he's kind of her type. Smart to a point where it's almost offensive, sarcastic and witty in the most charismatic way, probably a little wicked but with a mostly clean record and an easiness to charm his way out of trouble. If he wasn't such an unbearable smartass (and a total jock), Cora would almost want to be friends with him. 

Argent is a whole other deal. She’s smart, of course, because that kind of people herd together, but her defining characteristic is her athleticism. It’s a popular rumor among the BHH population that she was going to be an Olympic archer, but she’s never confirmed nor denied it. She plays football (soccer, really, but after years away from the States, Cora always gets the words mixed up), and can run a marathon without breaking a sweat. She can probably bench press as much weight as Mahealani, but her arms aren’t as scary.

Martin, though, Martin is the one that always catches Cora’s attention. She’s the Queen Bee every movie needs, the sum of every perfect protagonist into a single person. She’s the smartest of the three, probably. Not as well versed in literature as Allison Argent, definitely not as good with computers as Mahealani, but excellent at _literally_ everything else. As far as Cora’s heard, she’s taking AP classes in calculus, economics, physics, statistics, Spanish and Latin. She’s been a few levels ahead of everyone her age for like, two years now; and there is no doubt that, if anyone in Beacon Hill will ever get a Nobel Prize or make the TIME cover, it’s gonna be her.

Too bad she’s an insufferable, snobby rich girl who won’t look twice at anyone without a 4.0 GPA and designer clothes.

At Cora’s annoyed huff, Malia turns towards her. "What's wrong?" she asks, looking a little concerned. Cora tries really hard not to roll her eyes or huff again and refuses to answer, but Erica speaks instead. With her sweetest smile and a mocking tone, she asks "What? You didn't know about Cora's legendary non-crush on Lydia Martin?" Cora glares at her, Malia frowns.

"How does a non-crush work?" she asks Erica, but turns to Cora before getting an answer. "I thought you didn't get crushes," she says, and Cora can't help but smile. Though a lot of people interpret her blunt honesty and frank curiosity as rudeness or carelessness; Malia is really thoughtful and makes a great effort to learn and remember details about the people she cares about. From their favorite coffee to what kind of demonstrations of affection they prefer, she puts as much effort into learning about her friends as she puts on catching up on math and history.

"I don't. I might like, fall in love or whatever? At some point? If I really care for someone, I guess? But I don't get crushes," she tries to explain. She makes an exception for her cousin, but Cora isn’t usually vocal about her sexuality. Malia considers it, then nods. The fact that she's spent a lot of her life squatting with homeless trans women and runaway gay teens and spent very little time absorbing shitty prejudices from any institution makes talking about sexuality and stuff easy.

“And I don’t have a crush on Lydia Martin.”

Erica keeps her grin firmly in place, and Cora rolls her eyes at her. She goes to grab her backpack, and _definitely does not_ make a big dramatic gesture of digging through it until she finds the apple she brought with her, rubbing it clean with the hem of her shirt and biting angrily at it. Erica is still grinning. Cora is gonna have to kill her. 

“But what is a non-crush?” Malia asks again, after a few minutes of everyone eating their lunches in silence. Cora sighs deeply.

 

* * *

 

"I'm never going to remember where each personal pronoun is used, I swear." Lydia announces, and puts down her notebook. Danny doesn't look up from his phone, but Allison smiles sympathetically at her. "I keep thinking 'vos' and 'vosotros' should be used in the same dialects; but Spanish is stupid and refuses to make sense," she continues, in a whiny tone that only her two best friends have the privilege (and disgrace) of hearing. Their small table outside the café isn’t really private, but there's no one they know around, so Lydia can be as childish as she wants. She huffs indignantly and closes her notebook. Allison's smile is a little amused now.

"You just need more practice. Maybe music from each dialect? Or books?," she suggests. "I Skype with my cousins from Pou so I don’t lose my fluidity, mostly," she adds. Danny looks at Lydia, opens his mouth to speak, then promptly shuts it again and continues tapping on his screen. Allison looks at him with raised eyebrows, but Lydia is too busy glaring at her notebook to notice. Danny rolls his eyes. Allison frowns, but then turns to smile sweetly at Lydia. "You should find a study partner." Danny snorts.

"What?" Lydia snaps. She's wearing her hair straight, which Danny thinks makes her look particularly deadly. He puts on his most charming smile and sets his phone on the table (carefully out of her reach). "Well, _historically_ , you haven't ever been the best at studying with other people," he says. He even attempts to not sound so mocking. Allison cringes a little.

"I've had study partners," Lydia argues, pursing her lips at the end of the sentence. Danny knows their friendship is strong enough to survive their particular kind of honesty, but also knows that Lydia doesn't like being told that she's not good at things. He sighs dramatically, and says, "yeah, of course. You've had me. And Allison. And Jackson, but you kind of had him on a leash." Lydia tilts her head in a way that practically screams ' _and your point is?_ '. "We're talking about finding a partner who's _better_ at Spanish than you." He expects Lydia to look a little offended at that, but she only seems to be confused.

"I'm the top of the advanced class, who is better than me?" She asks. She seems to be honestly baffled by the suggestion. It's a good thing Danny loves her so much.

"People who actually speak Spanish on a daily basis, maybe? Native speakers?" He says. Allison is cringing again, and he guesses he's probably being a little condescending. If life were a teen flick, Lydia's affronted expression would be accompanied by a montage of everyone in the street cringing behind her back, waiting for her to screech or storm off.

Lydia's nails tap a fast rhythm against her coffee cup. "Who are you suggesting?" she asks. “And please don’t say Vázquez, I’m not about to start listening to some freshman’s babbling about boys _in Spanish_.” Danny wonders why he even bothers, but the answer to Lydia’s question decides to show up just as he considers simply changing the topic.

That answer has undercuts, too many piercings, ragged leather jackets and really loud voices. Specifically, Scott Delgado’s, Erica Reyes’ and Cora Hale’s voices. Reyes and Delgado are singing dramatically and terribly out of tune (‘ _no culpes a la noche, no culpes a la playa,_ ’ they sing, and Danny doesn’t really understand but he recognizes the rhythm from a Michael Jackson song), and Hale is covering her ears and probably threatening them with violence (‘¡me voy a comprar amigos nuevos!’, she says). Behind them, their little gang laughs loud enough that even the people inside the café look out the windows to see what’s causing such commotion. Reyes ends the verse with a ‘ _será que no me amas_ ’ and what is probably supposed to be a seductive face, Delgado mimics hitting a set of drums. Hale drops herself onto a chair on the table next to theirs and hides her face in her arms.

Danny is taking French, so he doesn’t really understand what she’s mumbling, but he’s pretty sure Hale feels about her friends just what he’s feeling about Lydia right now. A very fond kind of murderous frustration, probably.

Lydia raises her eyebrows in his direction. ‘No way,’ she mouths, completely silent but shaking her head determinedly. Danny grins. “Well, they are seniors,” he whispers. Allison hides her own smile behind her coffee cup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Scott and Erica are dramatically singing Luis Miguel's cover of Michael Jackson's 'Blame it on the Boogie', "[Será que no me amas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSiDCJALfW0)". Cora threatens them with " _I'm gonna buy myself some new friends!_ "


	2. Baila Esta Cumbia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, there'll be a link to the songs mentioned right there in the text, and another one in the end notes!

Cora isn't particularly fond of big crowds and flashing lights. Parties are usually better in movies with the colorful montages of pretty girls dancing, ridiculous guys doing keg stands and a lot of closeup shots of hands with cigarettes, fruity drinks and people's tongues as they make out, than they are in real life. That last part, Cora doesn't like so much. She always cringes during movie kisses. They are still better than real life parties, though.

"I love [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTLhfRGCZq0)!" Malia proclaims, too loud and a little slurred. She's being ridiculous and drunk with Scott and Stiles, the three of them dancing together just a few steps away from their group. Scott has a blunt between their fingers and is letting Malia and Stiles drag them into a frenzied dance that’s just them jumping around. Cora hopes the weed is good and it keeps the possibility of Scott getting an asthma attack at bay for tonight. She's a loving friend, but really doesn't want to end up at the ER at three a.m with the idiot.

She's three seconds away from announcing that she's bored and going to head back home early when Boyd clasps a hand on her right shoulder and Erica leans obnoxiously against her left side. "You are not going home," Erica sing-songs, and Cora sighs deeply. "Why not?" she asks, one hundred percent _not_ pouting nor whining. Erica just grins.

"Since I can’t get drunk or high; I've determined that y'all should, as generous and loving friends, drink and smoke for me." Erica's grin gets wider, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'm gonna live vicariously through you, and laugh at you when you get disgustingly wasted," she continues. Cora suspects there will be no use in arguing. "Plus, you need to go get me soda right now, me estoy deshidratando."

Erica takes one of her hand-rolled cigarettes from her purse, takes it to her lips and, when Boyd and Cora don’t seem to be moving, she looks them with raised eyebrows, "What? Is no one going to offer me a light?" Cora's groan can probably be heard from the other side of the house.

 

* * *

 

The music is terrible, the alcohol is cheap, the lights are annoying. If she didn't love Danny so much, Lydia would never step into another party again. This kind of social event is exactly why Lydia stopped bothering with 'popularity' and high school social life. She could be listening to quality music and reading Stephen King's latest novel instead of trying to navigate a sweaty crowd while her ears ring with Katy Perry's annoying voice. Sadly, Danny does care about popularity.

Everybody likes Danny, just like everybody used to like Lydia. The difference being that Danny finds being social and popular easy and appealing, while for Lydia it was tiring and not nearly rewarding enough. The two of them have terrible superiority complexes, are too smart for their own good and abuse sarcasm constantly; but Danny has a kind charm and charisma that makes people like him anyways. If Lydia doesn't wrap her personality in a careful layer of hypocrisy, most people just can't stand her. It's a good thing Allison and Danny aren't most people.

"Hey, gorgeous, do you wa..." some guy starts, his breath stinking of alcohol and disgustingly close to Lydia's neck. She shoves him away without a second glance, and stomps her way towards the kitchen. _As if_.

She just wants a drink. She knows where the Mahaleani's good alcohol is hidden, and it wouldn't be such a crime to steal it tonight if she puts a bottle of the same brand in place tomorrow, right? Danny won't mind as long as Lydia doesn't get him in trouble with his parents. She's glad to see that the kitchen is empty.

The expensive liquors (Lydia's favorite Bailey's, at least one bottle of rum imported from Cuba and a small, delicate bottle of absinthe that nobody ever touches) are safely stashed in the highest cabinet in the kitchen, behind a few cereal boxes and inconspicuous bottles of oil. It was originally to keep Danny and his little sister from reaching them, but Danny just orders disgusting amounts of beer from people online who deliver it without asking questions, and Danny's fourteen years old sister is Beacon Hills' most talented crafter of fake IDs, so the bottles just stay there to keep any guests from drinking the good alcohol.

The expensive liquors are stashed in the kitchen's highest cabinet, and every single chair and stool in the kitchen has vanished. Every single one. Lydia can't help but to give a frustrated kick to the floor, huffing and pouting. She glares, from the unreachable cabinet to the middle table covered in bottles of shitty alcohol she can’t stomach and then back again to the cabinet. It takes her about thirty seconds to make a decision.

She can't take an entire night of this sober, Lydia tells herself as she opens a drawer, and steps carefully out of her heels and onto the drawer. She reaches up, but is still too short. She pulls her tight pencil skirt up so she can kneel on the counter, and tries to reach the cabinet from there. Still a few inches short.

Lydia sighs a resigned goodbye to her dignity, and holds onto the wall to shakily stand up. She's not particularly fond of any kind of heights, but ignores it to finally open the cabinet, push the cereal boxes away and reach for her beloved Bailey's.

The kitchen's door opens when she's taking a triumphant drink directly from the bottle, still with her skirt wrinkled and her feet bare, sitting on the counter. Lydia hates parties so much.

 

* * *

 

Boyd thinks he should have chosen to stay in the backyard with Scott, Stiles and Malia when he had the chance. That, or he should have chosen to take Spanish instead of French back in Freshman year. He's not sure if Cora and Erica's snarky arguments in Spanish would be less or more annoying if he could understand them, though.

"¡Te digo que no me gusta!" Cora groans, obviously exasperated, as she pushes the kitchen's door open. Erica doesn't seem at all willing to let it go, but something cuts her answer. That something being a pretty disheveled Lydia Martin looking back at them, with her curls a little messy, her skirt barely covering her thighs and a bottle of liquor in her hand.

For the person that mocks Cora about her non-crush on Martin most of the time, Erica is just as speechless as her best friend. Boyd can't even pretend to be jealous; Lydia Martin definitely is a breathtaking sight, he's just a little better at acting like a normal human being around gorgeous girls.

"Do we just get beer, or do you want anything else?" he asks, successfully snapping the two of them out of it before their staring becomes completely obvious and uncomfortable. Erica smiles up at him, looking mildly apologetic. Cora tries to act cool and collected, which tends to mean 'intimidating and closed off' for the Hales. When she awkwardly nods in Martin's direction and turns to pour herself a drink in complete silence, Boyd has to swallow his laughter.

They are moving around the kitchen's table, which is covered in bottles of terrible vodka and cans of the cheapest beer, when Lydia Martin finally speaks. "You really can't smoke inside the house," she snaps. Erica turns towards her with raised eyebrows.

"Says who?" she asks. Boyd sighs.

"The signs that somebody bothered duck-taping on every room, babe," he says, signaling the obviously hand-drawn 'no smoking' sign stuck to the fridge. Erica snorts.

"You can't smoke here," someone else calls, from behind Boyd and Erica's back. They turn around to see Allison Argent, standing on the doorway and looking concerned. "Danny's parents won't like it," she explains, still with her brow furrowed but with an apologetic smile. Erica puts out the cigarette against the sole of her boot.

“Sorry, my bad. What’s up, Argent?”

 

* * *

 

Allison and Reyes have been teasing each other for about twenty minutes now. Lydia is just now finding that they play basketball together on weekends? And, apparently, have a long running score to see who does better at PE classes? Reyes seems to be terribly passionate about soccer being actually called football, and convinced that Allison plays a really shitty defense. Allison keeps repeating ‘soccer, soccer, soccer, soccer’ over Reyes’ words.

Lydia takes a very, very long drink from the Bailey’s bottle and longs for her Stephen King novel. Sitting just a few steps from her, Boyd and Hale do the same with their beers.

"Are you even supposed to be drinking that?" Boyd finally asks her. He sounds comfortable, even familiar. It's a nice change from everyone's scared attitude; but Lydia doesn't appreciate Hale's smug little smirk from behind her friend.

"I can actually afford to replace the bottle, unlike most people here," she answers, sounding too snobbish even for her own liking. At Hale's raised eyebrows, she remembers that the Hale oldest siblings drive the two most expensive cars in Beacon Hills, and Cora Hale owns the best bike Lydia's ever seen. They’re probably as rich as the Argent family, and way wealthier than Lydia's mom will ever be.

The difference is that Cora doesn't like reminding other people that she's disgustingly rich. Lydia kind of loves it. She's never considered herself a humble person, anyways. Still, she raises the bottle in their direction.

"Want some? It's on me."

Boyd (Lydia doesn't actually know his first name) smiles but shakes his head. Cora, though, puts her beer aside and steps forward to grab the bottle. The wide grin she puts on as she says a sarcastic 'thank you' is as annoying as her previous smirk. Cora has a piercing on her frenulum, and it shines against her upper lip when she smiles like that. God, Lydia has a terrible taste in women. And men, to be honest. Okay, people, in general. In any case, Lydia is perpetually torn between considering piercings tacky and really, really hot. Piercings, and those haircuts with half of the head shaved, and noisy bikes with stupid designs painted on the sides, and leather jackets with a lot of studs. Tacky. Super tacky. Except that, well, they are a lot hotter than they are tacky if it’s pretty girls with shitty attitudes wearing them.

Cora Hale grins against the bottle’s rim, and the piercing shines again. Whatever Boyd says, it makes Cora laugh a sharp, high laughter; but Lydia isn’t really listening. 

 

* * *

 

Erica and Malia have decided that they need to fuck with the playlist, and there’s no stopping them. Erica has somehow convinced Allison to tell them where the computer is, and now they are headed up the stairs. Stiles and Scott follow them with matching excited grins. Boyd and Cora go right behind, with similar resigned expressions. And, because drinking alone can only be so fun and her best friend is leading the group, Lydia follows up the group, keeping her lips pursed and a firm hold on the bottle of Bailey’s.

Allison guides them into a room (the lacrosse jerseys thrown over the bed and geeky-ass posters hanging from the walls suggest it’s Danny’s), and Erica runs towards the computer yelling “¡Selena!” Cora can’t see any wire connecting the notebook to the audio system downstairs, but this is Danny after all. As far as Cora knows, the guy could be a technomancer and no one would be surprised.

Catching herself thinking of the world ‘technomancer’ without any kind of irony to it makes Cora wonder if she should maybe stop hanging out with Stiles.

“Want some more?” someone asks behind her, and Cora can’t believe she forgot Lydia Martin was with them. She accepts the bottle because she loves Bailey's with a passion (and because this is Lydia Martin being friendly and smiling at her, and you have to count your blessings). Lydia looks at Erica, then back at Cora, and raises her eyebrows. Cora shrugs. "They just really love Selena. Rodrigo is obviously superior, though."

Cora doesn't think she's ever seen Lydia Martin look this confused. And, really, she does not have any kind of 'crush' or 'squish' or any of that romantic bullshit, but Lydia is an interesting person to watch. Cora doesn't think Lydia Martin has ever been this clueless about anything, ever.

"You do know Selena and Rodrigo, right?" Cora asks, vocalizing each word slowly and clearly, even though she knows she sounds patronizing and Lydia might hate her for it. She's also very sure Lydia Martin's only kind of blush is the one she carefully applies over her cheekbones, and yet her face is slowly growing a little red under Cora's gaze.

Erica finishes syncing her phone with the computer, and throws a fist up in the air. Cora can't help the grin that comes to her lips. She _loves_ showing music to other people. Correction: she loves showing Selena and Rodrigo to people who live completely disconnected from anything on the other side of the American border. They all look confused and ridiculous (and she probably did too, when she first moved to Mexico and her new friends introduced her to cumbia, but she's never going to admit to that).

The first few notes of Selena's "[Techno Cumbia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEdWnZfyGj4)" sound, both from the laptop's speakers and coming from the sound system downstairs, Erica's laughter drowns the indignant complaints from the party guests.

 

* * *

 

Allison and Reyes are dancing. They’re arguing even as they jump around, but both of them are grinning; and even though Reyes insists that Allison's steps are off, she's keeping up pretty well. Erica leads them, making Allison twirl and tangling their arms in the most complicated moves one could think off. A guy is singing now, yelling '[ _viajo sin documento_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVv08IZVMEg)' over the recorded screams of the crowd. Allison fucks up the step and untangles herself from Reyes' arms in a giggling fit, Lydia can't hear whatever teasing remark Reyes makes.

After a few minutes of whining, everyone seems to have forgotten that the tracklist has been tampered with. It's obvious that Reyes, Delgado and a few freshmen are the only ones who really get how to dance to whatever this rhythm is, but everyone else is just jumping along to the drums.

Lydia doesn't dance. Not that she _can't_ dance, but she doesn't. She can have way more fun watching as Tate, Delgado and Stilinski try to dance together to a rhythm that is obviously meant for couples, with Stilinski just doing ridiculous twirls between his... partners? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Whatever. Between his friends' arms. Meanwhile, she sits on the couch's armrest and tries to get drunk before anyone else notices she's drinking decent liquor and asks her to share.

Her plan is soon ruined by Cora Hale, who comes to sit next to her. "I assume you didn't appreciate cuarteto," Hale says. She's got that annoying little smirk on her lips again, the one that doesn't show any teeth or shiny piercings. Lydia huffs, and nudges the bottle for a few seconds. "I don't dislike it," she finally admits. Cora's smirk widens into a full-on grin. "Aren't you gonna dance with your friends?" Lydia asks. Cora shrugs.

"I don't really dance. Not that I can't," she remarks, and Lydia wants to laugh. If Hale is being as honest as Lydia is with herself, they are probably the two shittiest dancers in the entire party. After Stilinski, that is.

"Isn't Córdoba in Spain?" Lydia asks, confused. The guy doesn't sound Spanish, but he's singing about how his accent lets everyone know he's from Córdoba; and Lydia is doubting her perfect grades in Geography. Cora snorts.

"There is a Córdoba in Argentina, too," she explains. "I lived there for like six months. It's probably my third favorite city in the world," she says, and there is a hint of nostalgia in her voice. Lydia tries to remember what she knows about the Hales, a recollection of rumors and news headlines about a case of arson and the three surviving Hale children being sent away with different members of their family. If she's right, Cora must have lived in Latin America for about a decade.

"I thought you lived in Mexico," Lydia says. Cora smiles and shakes her head.

"My parents' best friends were living in Yucatán when I first moved, so that's where I went first. But they've got money and a nomad spirit, so at the end of every school year we moved to another place. Lucía, their oldest daughter, was born in Chile; and Mariano in Venezuela."

Lydia wants to pry. She's got questions. Some serious but probably pretentious and unwelcome questions, because she's taking a college seminar on racial and ethnic politics and the whole latino thing is hard to understand. Some really stupid questions, too, because rumor has it that the Hale's house got burned down because they had mob connections or something, and that Cora is so tough because she spent her years away with a Mexican cartel (Lydia knows it's bullshit, but she still itches to ask). Mostly, Lydia just wants to know about Cora.

She doesn't think Cora Hale has ever spoken more than three words in a row in any of the classes they share; and is fairly sure that, every time she's seen their little gang together, Cora and Boyd are the most reserved of the lot. Being here, having this conversation is something that probably won't happen again. She should probably try not to act like an idiot or an asshole, right?

"Oh, this is [my Scott song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2Do-aLB74g)," Cora says, interrupting Lydia's train of thought. With a resigned smile, Cora watches Delgado coming towards them, beaming. Lydia is confused for a moment, but realizes she completely wasted her time. Cora stands and lets herself be dragged into the crowd, looking apologetic. "Sorry, I'll be right back!" she calls towards Lydia. Cora’s eyes stay on hers for a few seconds, until Scott tugs at her wrist and makes her spin around.

 

* * *

 

Malia and Stiles keep on handing her drinks, Scott pouts every time she tries and says that this is the last song. She doesn’t have any dancing skills, but they pull her along and push her around, and she lets them because she kind of loves them. She looks back at Lydia every now and then, catches her sight once and takes the chance to grin and wave at her. Lydia rolls her eyes, but waves back.

After a few songs (and more than a few drinks), though, Cora kind of forgets that Lydia is waiting for her. The crowd pushes them a little further away from the couch, closer to the backyard's doors, and Cora doesn't have bright red hair on sight anymore.

By the time someone actually switches the playlist again, and a barely decent remix of ‘[Work Bitch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iOz-2HmneU)’ starts blasting across the house, Cora is drunk and sweaty and tired, and she really wants to be barefoot. “This music blows, let’s go for a smoke,” Erica yells over the deafening bass, and takes hold of Cora’s hand to drag her outside. Cora cringes a little and slips her fingers away, but follows the group.

They sit on the grass and Stiles complains about the Mahealani’s pool being empty, but Cora is just glad that she can finally kick her boots off and toe at her socks until she can shake them off.

Erica, Malia and Scott join her, all kicking their shoes off and wriggling their toes. Stiles makes a big hassle of finding a way to use both Scott and Malia as pillows, and announces loudly and obnoxiously that he's wasted as fuck. Boyd slings and arm over Erica's shoulders and rolls his eyes in Stiles' direction.

Cora just lies there for a few minutes, enjoying the relative calm. The music is far away and dulled by walls and closed doors; and the only other people in the garden are a few couples making out and a group of freshmen. She thinks Kira Whatshername and Mason Whatever are the ones giggling by the bushes, but she doesn't care for whatever gossip they're sharing. She's a little drunk. Half a bottle of Bailey's and a lot of beer drunk.

"Erica," she groans, and makes a huge effort to sit up, "Erica, my only love, can I have a smoke?" she asks, and her words are only the tiniest bit slurred. Erica laughs, but moves to dig through her purse anyways.

"Your only love? Are you really that wasted?" she asks, and makes kissy noises in Cora's direction. Cora sticks her tongue at her. She's a very childish drunk.

"Gross, no romo. Come on, give me a smoke," Cora insists. Erica shrugs and takes out a plastic bag instead.

"Ran out, wait." Cora groans again when Erica takes a pack of rolling paper from her back pocket and opens the bag of tobacco. She doesn't even smoke that often, and still she doesn't get how Erica has the patience and dedication to roll each cigarette herself.

Malia, Stiles and Boyd are already well into an argument over how important Star Wars is or isn't for Malia's comprehension of pop culture by the time Erica has finished rolling two cigarettes, brushed the stray strands of tobacco from her lap and stashed the bag back inside her purse. Cora gives her a grateful smile when she finally hands her a cigarette and a lighter.

"What's up with Lydia?" Scott asks as soon as Cora has lit their cigarette. They are obviously smart enough to know not to ask such questions when Cora is still impatient and craving a smoke. They don’t know that asking is a bad idea anyway, though. Cora glares at them, but Scott is wearing their most innocent smile, and she can't really be too mean when that smile is at play. She sighs, Erica looks at her with interest too.

"I don't know. Strangely enough, I spoke more than she did. It didn't seem like she's that into parties." Which is strange, really, because Cora remembers that when she first came back to California, everyone used to talk about Lydia Martin's parties being the hottest parties. Sometime in the last two years, though, that reputation has been won over by Danny, and Lydia doesn't seem to care. "She doesn't appreciate the musical genius of Selena," Cora adds, and Scott shakes their head in mock disappointment.

"My mom wouldn't approve then," they say, with their most serious tone. It's a shit serious tone, and it makes Erica snort.

"She did seem pretty into you, though," Erica comments, grinning. Cora raises her eyebrows, confused. "Come on, you didn't notice?" She asks, her voice a pitch higher, and Cora just shrugs. "I love you, but you _are_ the ace in grey-ace," Erica declares. Cora just smiles and shrugs again, taking another drag from her cigarette. Her mouth is already running dry from the alcohol, but it's still satisfying.

"You seemed to get along, though," Scott comments, without any of Erica's sarcasm. Cora suspects she's acting a lot like her older brother when she finds herself shrugging again. "Hey, you've always found her interesting. You could talk again after this, maybe you'll end up being friends!" Scott insists. They're a total sweetheart, and Cora loves them, but really?

"Somehow I doubt the Queen Bee will want to talk to me unless she finds herself bored out of her mind again," Cora just states, and takes a too long drag. Her throat burns a little.

"I don't know, I don't think more friends can hurt anyone," Scott mumbles. Erica seems pensive.

"Besides, it would be a challenge," she finally says. Cora raises her eyebrows towards her again, and even Boyd and Stiles stop arguing to listen. There is obvious mischief in Erica's voice and grin. "The party is almost over, but I bet you can befriend the Queen Bitch at school if you set yourself to it," Erica drawls. She's doing that voice that Boyd finds sexy but to Cora just means bad, bad things.

"Why would I want to?" Cora asks, and Malia's confused look backs her up.

"Cause you find her intriguing! Cause you kinda get along!" Erica suggests. Stiles, because he's a little shit, tags along.

"Cause I don't really think you can," he suggests. Cora frowns. That's a good argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first scene, Erica says "You need to get me a soda right now, _I'm dehydrated._ "  
> In the third scene (the second from Cora's POV), Cora is saying something that could be read both as " _I'm telling you, I don't like it!_ " or " _I'm telling you, I don't like her/him/them!_ "  
> The first song Erica plays is Selena Quintanilla's "[Techno Cumbia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEdWnZfyGj4)". Later, when Cora and Lydia are sitting outside of the dancefloor, they're speaking over Rodrigo's "[Soy Cordobés](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVv08IZVMEg)"


	3. Young Folks

Lydia doesn't think she's dreaded a Monday this much in months. She wishes she could at least justify it to herself by saying she's still hungover, but she shared half of her Bailey's with Hale and didn't drink anything else, so that excuse is a no-go. Plus, Danny and Allison know her too well for her to be able to lie herself out of the inevitable questioning.

Truth is (Danny buys her coffee and Allison puts on puppy eyes until she finally admits it) that she's disappointed. That she wanted Hale to forgo dancing with her friends and talk to her instead, but instead Lydia spent a good while nursing the bottle by herself until Allison forced her onto the dance floor, and Hale didn't show up again.

Lydia doesn't like expecting things and not getting them. Her expectations are always clear targets she can reach with specific methods, not arbitrary wants like chatting with and attention from people she has no control over. She doesn't like being let down, not even when she wasn’t really expecting anything. She just wanted someone new and interesting to talk to, someone to make that dreadful party a little more bearable. She doesn't want new friends. She doesn't need them.

"So, is it true? Is Hale in a cartel?" Danny asks, voice serious and his best poker face on. Allison raises her eyebrows, but Lydia always gets Danny's jokes. She hides her grin behind her book.

"You both are idiots," Allison announces. Danny just smiles. Allison rolls her eyes and goes back to her novel, but her pretend resignation doesn't last long. "You should talk to her again."

"Who?" Lydia asks, not looking up from her book on Gödel. "Cora," Allison says. Danny seems amused, Allison is trying very hard not to let the urge to smack them both win her over.

"Why?" Lydia asks, still keeping up her careful disinterest. "She could help you with Spanish!" Allison says. "I'd get a laugh out of it," Danny adds. Allison glares at him.

"You like her!" She insists, and Lydia looks affronted. "I do not," she states. Allison huffs. "Like, get along with, you know what I mean."

"Lydia can't hold a conversation with anyone below her IQ," Danny says. "I talk with you all the time," she snaps back, and Danny grins.

"I love you too. But you're a snob."

Lydia wants to deny it, but Allison's sharp grin lets her know that she can't win this argument. She purses her lips and fixes one of her curls instead of answering.

"You could ask Erica, then," Allison suggests. Lydia huffs. "Or Scott. Scott is sweet and smart, I'm sure you'd get along." Allison's smile doesn't give in to Lydia's skeptic look.

"Or, you know, Hale."

Lydia glares at Danny.

 

* * *

  

“I’m sure there is a rule about posting more than twenty selfies in a row, Lydia,” Allison assures, but lets Lydia drag her to her side anyways. Even smiles for the camera, because she knows that Lydia will just keep taking picture after picture until they both look perfect anyways.

Lydia ignores her quips in order to inspect the picture. "I don't like that curl," she determines after a few seconds. Allison doesn't even need to be told to pose again, she just sighs as loudly and dramatically as possible and moves to press her cheek against Lydia's again.

"How was the seminar?" Allison asks, as soon as Lydia appears to be happy with one of the photos and starts typing a caption for it. Lydia doesn't need to stop writing in order to answer, which Allison's always found incredible.

"Boring. There was some old anthropologist dude talking about his years living with traditional tribes in Africa. He could have been talking about a trip to the zoo and you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.” Lydia clicks her tongue in annoyance and taps the 'publish' button on the screen. Allison fears for the integrity of the glass.

"You should drop it, if it's so bad. Maybe wait until they offer something different?" Lydia shakes her head, taps her nails against the table. "I don't really get why you're suddenly so interested in sociology, to be honest," Allison comments, prying as delicately as possible. Lydia doesn't seem very willing to explain her reasons, stubbornly quickens the beat of her nails on the wood. Finally, after a few seconds of looking annoyed and embarrassed, she starts talking again.

"I made an, apparently, really shitty comment about Danny wanting to learn Hawaiian a while back," she says, looking down at the table the whole time. Lydia is probably the person with best pronunciation that Allison's ever met, but her words are mumbled and almost unintelligible now.

“Please, tell me Danny wasn’t talking about you when he came to me complaining about ‘ignorant snobs who call Hawaiian a dead language’. Please,” Allison says, trying to go for a joke but failing miserably. Lydia purses her lips and stares intently at her own hands. Allison sighs. "I expect you to have apologized properly," she comments, but doesn't really give Lydia the time to give her a disappointing answer. "Have you tried asking him about these things?" she asks. Lydia shakes her head, looks around the cafeteria before answering.

"Uh, this was actually like two weeks ago. He told me to fuck off and has been acting as if nothing had happened, but he's obviously annoyed." Lydia takes a deep breath, fixes her hair again. "I don't want to just apologize, I want to like, support him? But I don't get where he's coming from, not even after listening to the people in this seminar for like two weeks. I can't believe academia is failing me like this."

Allison smiles at that. “You’re always complaining about how all math awards are given to guys. Why does it surprise you that all discussions around sociology and identity are led by white people?" Lydia bites on her lower lip and frowns. "We think that all people have to think like us, that we're the default, and that has to show up in the academic world too, obviously. You can't read what white people have to say about diaspora and assume you understand how Danny feels about his heritage, because it's not our experience."

Lydia wants to just drop this discussion altogether, but Allison doesn't pick up her book from the table. "I'll look into some better reads," Lydia finally says. Her phone vibrates with a notification, and she's glad for the distraction.

She's confused about how Reyes could have found her profile when she sees the 'like', but realizes she probably saw Allison tagged in it. Lydia is actually surprised she hadn't noticed Allison and Reyes were amiable before the party but, then again, Lydia rarely bothers to know what’s happening outside of her tightknit social circle.

A few minutes later, she sees that @TrisKCH is following her. Lydia recognizes the tattoo on the profile pic as Hale's. She frowns, still vaguely offended about being stood up, but follows back.

 

* * *

 

 "I'm gonna burn down the triple A." Lydia mutters out loud as she types the same sentence into her phone. She's not about to leave her car alone, right outside of the woods, with the top down, and the damn thing can't be moved manually; so she can't just close it and text someone to pick her up. But she's allowed to complain on Twitter all she wants, right? "Right," she reassures herself, and sits with her legs out of the open door. She fiddles with her phone and mindlessly scrolls down the timeline. She tweets about how she always has car trouble on weekends, accompanied by an embarrassing number of angry emojis. After almost two minutes of not really doing anything, she sighs to herself and opens the PDF version of 'The Modern Pacific' she was reading earlier today. She curses Allison every time she tries to pronounce the author's last name, but this is definitely more useful than any of the speakers at the seminar were.

She's finishing the chapter when she finally hears an engine approaching, and looks up from the screen in hopes of it being the AAA people. Instead, a flashy and loud bike comes to a stop beside her car. Cora Hale takes off her helmet and raises her eyebrows at her, just a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"What's up?" She asks, and Lydia can't help but roll her eyes. "Oh, nothing! I just randomly decided to stop outside the preserve to spend an entire hour admiring the trees!" she answers.

Cora doesn't bother acknowledging Lydia's unfriendly demeanor. “Do you know if it's the engine or the battery?" she asks instead, while she hangs her helmet from the handlebar. Lydia shrugs, looks in annoyance at the completely dead dashboard.

"I'm guessing the battery?" She says, and that's already the sum of all she knows about cars. Cora's eyebrows manage to stay raised and judgmental even as she flings her leg over the bike, turns and moves to stand.

"I already called triple A, but thanks for your concern," Lydia says, and tries to go back to her reading. One conversation at a boring party doesn't make them besties and (despite what Allison and Danny think) she doesn't need to try and put energy into making new acquaintances; so she'd rather not accept favors from Hale. Lydia doesn't really believe in doing good without repayment, and seemingly selfless gestures of interest or solidarity from anyone other than her closest friends and family always make her a little suspicious.

"And they're gonna take an hour," Cora quips, barely raised eyebrows accompanying a bored expression. Lydia doesn't see the use in telling that they told her it's gonna be at least two. Hale is as stubborn as Lydia herself, though. She crosses her arms and stands right there, looking vaguely amused, but mostly looking like she doesn't have anything better to do. "Do you know what's the issue, or not?" she insists, and Lydia sighs long and loudly.

"The battery. And no, the killswitch isn't on," she adds, quickly. She's not the best with cars but she knows to check the damn switch first of all, and the AAA employee that took her call was already a condescending idiot about it. Hale doesn't seem all that impressed.

"Let me check it," she says, and looks terribly confident. It suits her. Lydia huffs.

"There are professionals on the way."

"I'm almost a professional," Cora answers. Lydia is about to make a sarcastic remark when she remembers that Laura Hale runs a garage with her sister-in-law. Lydia never remembers her name, but knows that she looks way too badass to be dating Cora's brother. Lydia doesn't remember his name either, but she's seen him at the college campus. It's terrible etiquette, not knowing people's names in such a small town, but Lydia doesn't care. Now that she thinks about it, she doesn't remember the garage's name either.

"I've been helping in Laura and Braeden's shop for the past year, come on. Let me take a look."

 

* * *

 

Lydia accepts because there are no better options, because she hates waiting, because Cora smiles when she offers. She watches as Cora opens the hood, checks things here and there, fiddles with anything and everything that could be fiddled with. After a while, she shuts the hood and moves to stand next to the driver's seat; where Lydia is still pretending to be focused on her reading. Lydia looks up to find what seems to be the Trademark Hale Look, with the crossed arms again.

"Did you find the problem? Or should I keep on waiting for actual professionals?” Lydia asks, making sure to put the accent in 'actual' both with her voice and with a little smirk. Cora rolls her eyes, doesn't unfold her arms or address Lydia's remark. "It's the killswitch, move over," she instructs. When Lydia objects, Cora just stubbornly keeps on glaring. After holding her stare for a few seconds, Lydia gives in and moves to the passenger's seat.

As soon as Cora produces a swiss army knive out of her jacket's inner pocket and proceeds to dismantle Lydia's dashboard, though, Lydia starts muttering threats. "My insurance won't cover this type of negligence," she insists, but keeps peeking from the corner of her eye, trying to guess what the hell Cora's doing.

She's got an outstanding amount of knowledge on a lot fields but Lydia has absolutely no idea of what each of the wires might be for, so she has no smartass comment to add right now. Instead, she squints, presses her lips together and glares suspiciously as Cora digs duct tape and a bunch of bobby pins from her pockets (it doesn't ease any of Lydia's distrust) and proceeds to cross the wires and tape them together in a way that looks anything but 'professional'. Still, when she asks Lydia for the keys, the car starts without any problems.

"Come on, we still need an actual professional to fix it, and you should let the triple A that they don't need to send anyone to tow your car," Cora says as she screws every part of the dashboard back in place. Lydia feels tempted to just let them send people over anyways, as payback for their incompetence; but doesn't think Cora would think too highly of her if she did.

 

* * *

 

Lydia makes a face when she hears the music, but follows Cora inside the garage anyways. Cora's sister, a pale woman with dark hair and heavily tattooed arms, gives her an one-armed hug and greets Lydia with a smile before going back to the Camaro she was working with.

"Braeden?" Cora asks, walking further into the garage. Laura gestures vaguely towards the back of the place, where Lydia can see some stairs and an old elevator.

"With Derek?"

Lydia watches with interest as Laura gives Cora a meaningful look and Cora sighs. "Wait for me, I'm gonna bang on their door until they get dressed," Cora says, smiles at her, and disappears up the stairs before Lydia can object.

There is a moment when Lydia has literally no idea what to do. Laura (who's older, covered in grease stains and positively intimidating; not that Lydia would admit to being intimidated by anyone) is working in the car and humming along to the closing bridge of the song playing, seemingly unaware that Lydia is even there. When the song ends and a silence falls over the garage, Lydia starts to fidget.

"This is Kanye West get right for the summer work out plan," sounds from the speakers, and Laura follows the speech word by word. Lydia covers her mouth with her hands and tries to muffle a snort. She fails.

"Oh, I forgot you were there," Laura says as she turns around. She doesn't seem offended by Lydia laughing at her or her musical taste. Instead, she has the same, confusing attitude that Cora always seems to carry.

Lydia likes Cora's... Aura? If one could call it that. She isn't as good with words as Allison, doesn't know how to describe it. Cora has a kind of self-assuredness that isn't necessarily cocky (unlike Danny's sense of superiority, or Erica Reyes' overwhelming confidence); she often seems challenging but rarely comes off as threatening. There is something else. Like amusement, maybe. Like she's the only one in her own inside jokes, with the tiny smirk always ghosting at the corners of her lips.

Laura doesn't allow Lydia to dwell on it much longer. She leans against the Camaro, wipes her hands against her dirty overalls, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Lydia wonders for just a fraction of a second how much more gestures and body language the Hale siblings share.

"You're Natalie's daughter, right?" Laura asks, serious but obviously amiable. Lydia smiles and nods. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot your name," Laura admits then, puts on a sharp but charming smile. She's definitely got a kind of charisma that Cora doesn't have or doesn't care to show.

"It's Lydia."

"Oh, I think Cora's mentioned you before!" Laura answers, grinning. Her brow furrows a little as she seems to be trying to remember what her little sister has told her about Lydia, and Lydia can't help but hope she doesn't have very good memory. She doubts Cora, or anyone in her little gang, have very good opinions about her.

Before any of them can start an actual conversation, though, Cora comes running down the stairs. She’s got a wide grin on her lips, obviously contrasting with the annoyed but resigned expression on the faces of the two people following her (at a much more normal pace).

"Lydia's car is outside," Cora says, but Braeden looks more like she wants to go back to sleep than get to work. Lydia assumes the Hales probably live in the building above, and the couple was taking a nap, because both of them still have the lines from the pillows drawn on their faces.

"I'm not going anywhere near a car until I have caffeine in my system," the woman (Braeden, surely) says. She's small but built, with dark skin and warm eyes that betray that her harsh tone is nothing more than a joke.

"I support the motion," Derek says. He is obviously his sisters' brothers, from the posture to the smile. He looks at Braeden with a kind of warmth and fascination that Lydia has rarely seen before, and doesn't think she'll really ever feel. It's kind of disgusting, actually, but they make an aesthetically gorgeous couple.

"I want coffee too," Laura calls. Derek tries to argue, but she leans even more comfortably against the Camaro she was working in, tilts her chin up and grins cheekily as she says, "what, you gonna start fixing your car yourself?"

"Do you want coffee?" Cora offers to Lydia, and Derek doesn't even bother objecting.

 

* * *

 

"Braeden is the best, she'll have your car just like new in no time," Cora promises. According to Braeden, Lydia's car is a model that tends to have issues with the killswitch, and sometimes it'll act up and shut down the entire car, even when it seems to be off.

"How much will it cost?" Lydia asks (again), but Cora refuses to answer. She insists that it has absolutely no cost, that's it's just fixing the wires, that Lydia doesn't have to worry. The more Lydia tries, the more decided Cora seems. By the time Derek comes back, carefully balancing five coffee mugs; Lydia has to give in.

"We're going to the roof!" Cora announces as she takes two of the mugs from him, and ignores him when he points out that he could have just left their coffees up in the loft, and they could have picked them up on the way.

Lydia wants to take the chance and ask Braeden about the costs of the repair instead, but Cora brushes a hand against her shoulder, pushes her towards the stairs just barely and immediately pulls her hand away. "Come on, you'll love the view," she says, and Lydia doesn't try to object anymore.

Cora guides her up the stairs, even though there is an elevator right there, available. Lydia wishes she wore lower heels or was a little less proud. But she's terribly short and terribly stubborn, and keeps all of her complaints to herself even as they climb five entire flights of stairs.

"Laura and I live just above the garage, and this is Derek and Braeden's loft," Cora says, as she hands Lydia one of the mugs, using her newly free hand to pull the heavy door open.

The first thing Lydia notices is the huge bookshelf, followed by the huge windows. The whole place is open, spacious and sunlit; but Cora doesn't let them stay. “This way," she calls, and Lydia is amazed anyone can run that fast with coffee in their hands without spilling any. She follows at a much slower pace, watching her steps carefully, because spiral staircases always make her a little dizzy.

She follows Cora through an open door, and they reach a small roof with a wall that goes just up to Lydia's waist. Cora is already climbing it, and she's comfortably seated with one leg hanging down and the other folded beneath her by the time Lydia closes the door behind her and walks up to lean against the parapet.

"I haven't apologized for standing you up, right?" Cora asks, and Lydia guesses she's trying to sound nonchalant, but she's failing big time. She shrugs, says that it doesn't matter, but Cora doesn't seem too happy about it. She fidgets and almost spills her coffee. "I'm sorry, though. I got distracted, but it was rude and inconsiderate," she says and, though it sounds like she's not very used to apologizing for anything, it's definitely an honest apology. Lydia smiles.

"I'm rude and inconsiderate, I would probably have done the same thing," Lydia promises, and Cora laughs at that. Lydia isn't a big fan of admitting she's got flaws, but Cora's laughter makes it worth it. "You don't need to do me any favors to ease your guilt, then. I can pay for the repairs," Lydia tries. Cora gives her the finger and sips at her coffee instead of answering.

They both drink their coffee in silence for a while, and Lydia takes the chance to really admire the view. The sun shining over the woods, the silhouette of Beacon Hills' roofs and trees, the clear sky. Mostly, Cora's little smile and the way the sun makes the blue in her hair look almost green.

"I like your hair," Lydia declares when she guesses she's been staring for too long. Cora looks up from her coffee, eyebrows raised again. She seems skeptical.

"Really?" Cora asks, and Lydia realizes that Cora's disbelieving look is mostly directed at her own flowery dress and Louis Vuitton jacket. Lydia shrugs.

"It would look like shit on me, but it's gorgeous on you," she says. She didn't mean to be that flattering, really, but Cora blushes and grins, so Lydia doesn't see the use in taking it back now.

"You could work an undercut," Cora jokes. Lydia makes a horrified face. "A Mohawk, definitely," Cora insists. The mental image alone is terrible, and Lydia fixes her curls with an offended expression.

"I'll pass, thanks."

They chat idly for a long while, until the coffee left at the bottom of their mugs is cold and the sun's starting to set. They talk about silly things: Cora calls Lydia's musical taste 'snobbish', Lydia tries and fails to deny it. Lydia tells her (as a secret, "and this better not reach anyone's ears") that she despises Danny's boyfriend. They discuss their shared dislike for jock mentality (but Boyd is Cora's best friend, and Danny is the jock to end all jocks, so the conversation ends with deeps sighs and resignation), and just how terrible a teacher Mr. Harris is.

Cora shares Stiles and Erica's theory about High School's social dynamics and teen flicks, and Lydia is the one to ask where she fits. Cora tries to derail the conversation then, but Lydia guesses first. "Are we the Plastics?" she asks, and Cora grins. Lydia doesn't seem to be offended.

"Being Queen Bee was tiresome and gross, though," Lydia admits.

"Danny fits the role easily, and he isn't such a bitch," Cora comments, but immediately goes to cover her mouth. Lydia snorts, raises an eyebrow.

"Are you calling me a bitch, Hale?" she asks, but she's grinning.

"Only at your best," Cora answers. 


	4. It Takes Some Muscle (to fall in love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cora's "pick-up line idea" is intellectual property of [Red](http://plaidandredlipstick.tumblr.com).

Turns out that friendship with Lydia Martin isn't as hard as expected. "She looks like a high maintenance kinda chick," Erica had joked, but Cora finds that she isn't at all. If anything, she spoils the people around her: she insists on paying for things, always buys little things she thinks her friends might like, putting her excellent memory to good use and always remembering when Allison has training, Danny has a test or, more recently, when Cora is getting a new piercing.

**From: Martin [17:46hrs.]** “ _Did it hurt a lot? Will ice-cream be a good idea?_ ” she texts Cora, about half an hour after she left the tattoo parlor with a very pretty and very painful metal bar through her tongue. Cora tells her not to worry too much, but Lydia is at her door with two iced coffees, a bottle of Listerine and a box of ibuprofen in no time.

Lydia's got a way of making it look like it's about her. She hides her most thoughtful and caring side under a very careful layer of shallowness, and sometimes Cora finds her hard to read. Danny gets dumped by his asshole boyfriend, and Lydia gives him an enormous box of chocolate with a snappy “stop mopping around, it ruins my mood."

"Don't buy into of her bad bitch act, she's got the world record for Longest Time Crying to The Notebook and loves Icona Pop," Argent tells her one day, while they're waiting in the line at the cafeteria. Cora grins at her, deciding that she approves of Erica and her getting along.

 

* * *

 

Malia and Stiles are being gross. They are always being gross, really, but they've just made up after fighting for like two entire days, and now they're sucking face in a particularly disgusting kind of way. Scott, as the only neutral party during the duration of the fight, is just looking amused and sipping at their frappuccino. Cora sighs deeply and turns her chair around, so she doesn't have to look at them any longer.

Boyd and Erica, on the other hand, behave like normal human beings most of the time. Erica is always running her fingers up and down the back of Boyd's head, and Boyd usually has a hand around her shoulders or her waist; but their physicality isn't as obnoxiously sexual and Stiles and Malia's. It's not Scott, Stiles and Malia, because Scott is usually a little more private; it's just the two of them. Sadly, Scott's preference for keeping affection for when there isn't a crowd around hasn't rubbed off on their partners.

**To: Martin [13:17hrs.]** " _im a good person, i dont deserve this amount of pda around me_ " she texts Lydia. She can hear her ringing laughter across the cafeteria, and can't help but smile. A reply comes just a few seconds later.

**From: Martin [13:20hrs.]** " _You poor martyr!_ "

**To: Martin [13:20hrs.]** " _are u mocking me, martin?_ "

**From: Martin [13:21hrs.]** " _I would never._ "

Cora bites at her sandwich and goes back to listening to Erica's admittedly hilarious anecdote. Apparently, she caught two nurses making out in a closet and almost gave them a heart attack. "I gave them a thumbs up and left, I swear my food has been way better since," she tells. Erica hasn't been ending up in the hospital so often, lately; so Cora guesses this story is pretty old. She missed the beginning.

"Hey, did you take your meds?" Cora asks, and both Scott and Boyd look at their phones to check the time. Erica sighs but smiles at them anyways. "I did, I promise," she says, soothingly. Scott smiles brightly, Boyd kisses the top of Erica's head. Cora simply nods and goes back to her food.

**From: Martin [13:38hrs.]** " _What are your plans today?_ " Lydia's next message reads. Erica tries to lean over and read too, but Cora moves her phone away and glares.

**To: Martin [13:40hrs.]** " _going jogging w boyd after school, why?_ "

**From: Martin [13:45hrs.]** " _Ugh, terrible. Text me when you take a shower, we’re having coffee._ "

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe Lydia dated a douchebag like Jackson Whittemore,” Cora states. Stiles raises his beer in agreement, Scott and Boyd both raise their eyebrows. Cora doesn’t really notice. “She’s smart, and caring, and gorgeous; why would she waste her time with someone like that?” she continues, and she sounds honestly confused.

“She should have wasted her time with me,” Stiles quips, and earns himself a playful punch on the shoulder from Malia. Cora crosses her eyes and grimaces. “Straight girls are weird,” she says.

“I seriously doubt Lydia Martin is straight,” Erica comments. Cora turns towards her so fast that her neck pops. “What? I, like, talk with Allison on an almost daily basis, I know what I’m talking ‘bout.”

Cora spends the next thirty seconds just gaping at her friend, while Erica nonchalantly takes a cigarette to her lips and tries to hide her smirk. She lights it, and takes a deep drag holding the smoke in. Cora just keeps looking at her, even as Erica’s tiny smirk widens into a full-on grin and she blows the smoke through her nose.

“The fuck you smiling at?” Cora finally snaps, and Erica just keeps beaming. Cora frowns, turns to her left and snatches the beer from Stiles’ hand. She ignores his complaints and gulps down all that’s left in the can; then sets it on the floor with a little too much force.

“Your non-crush is turning into a _squish_ ,” Erica says. Cora opens her mouth to give some kind of angry reply, but she thinks better of it. Instead, she lunges forward and steals the cigarette from Erica’s fingers.

“Cora and Lydia, sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i,” Erica sings, still smiling. Cora glares at her friends’ amused faces, rolls her eyes in Erica’s direction.

“I’m kicking you out of the loft,” she threatens, but it’s no use. Stiles and Malia are quick to join in Erica’s annoying little song. Cora huffs, throws her hands up in the air and gets up to go to the kitchen to get herself more beer. A particularly loud and out of tune “ _i-s-s-i-n-g! kissing!_ ” still reaches her ears.

 

* * *

 

As Cora walks closer, she can hear Lydia humming to a familiar tune. She’s sure she’s heard that song somewhere, but can’t quite place it. She slows her pace, tries to identify it, but Derek’s always said she’s tone deaf. She’s _sure_ she knows it, though.

Lydia notices her presence before she can try and keep guessing, and turns around to smile at her as she takes her headphones off. Cora can now hear the music coming from them, though. “Oh my god, are you listening to [Nicki Minaj](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uE4gvuiirQ)?” Cora asks, and Lydia rushes to pause the music.

“What if I am?” Lydia asks, but she’s blushing a little. “Danny likes her,” she adds, but Cora just smiles at her. Lydia’s cheeks and nose are starting to fill with summer freckles, and the blush just makes then stand out.

“Nothing, nothing. What’s up?” Cora says, pulls a chair to sit next to Lydia and leaves her helmet on the table. She notices that Lydia has a coffee in her free hand, and another one waiting in the middle of the table. She doesn’t need to ask to know it’s for her, and just the kind she likes.

Lydia shrugs, gestures towards her books. “I was trying to set my Spanish assignment on fire with the power of my mind, wanna watch?”

“I could help you, instead?” Cora suggests. Lydia’s smile makes her feel ridiculous things.

 

* * *

 

**To: Boyd [23:07hrs.]** “ _is ‘u put the grey in my grey ace’ even a valid pick up line?_ ”

**From: Boyd [23:43hrs.]** “ _I’m blocking your number_ ”

**From: Boyd [23:47hrs.]** “ _Erica is laughing at you_ ”

**From: Boyd [23:48hrs.]** “ _can’t you just like, tell Martin that you want to make out with her?_ ”

**To: Boyd [00:03hrs.]** “ _i dont know how these things r supposed to work!!!!!!_ ”

**From: Boyd [00:15hrs.]** “ _Erica is still laughing at you_ ”

**To: Boyd [00:17hrs.]** “ _u both suck_ ”

**From: Boyd [00:21hrs.]** “ _You should try with something like ‘hey, I like you’. It’s not that hard._ ”

**To: Boyd [00:22hrs.]** “ _just go the fuck to sleep_ ”

 

* * *

 

It can’t be said that she isn’t trying. She said ‘hey’ to Lydia like… ten times this week. The hard part, it turns out, is the ‘I like you’. She’s not even sure of what she wants, really. She remembers seeing Lydia and Jackson together, Whittemore’s possessive arm around Lydia’s shoulders all the time, their goodbye kisses in the hallways. She doesn’t want that. She kinda wants to play with Lydia’s hair, and probably take her for rides in her bike. Definitely kiss her. Kiss her a lot. She’s not so sure about all the other things that ‘liking’ someone usually entails. Like holding hands ( _ew, gross_ ).

Boyd says it’s easy. Just ‘hey, I like you’. But it’s more of a ‘hey, I like you, but I only show it in really specific ways and I hope you like me back but also respect that I’m not too fond of most forms of intimacy and, really, this whole romantic deal is bullshit.’ It’s not easy.

Cora groans, and a soft hand on her wrist stops the almost automatic motion of her hands.

"First, that stopped looking like a braid about two inches ago. Second, you're like, putting all of your anxiety into my hair," Braeden says, smiling at their reflection in the mirror. Cora mutters an apology and starts undoing the braid, but Braeden stops her again.

"My hair won't go nowhere, come on. Sit down and tell me what's going on," she says, softly but firmly. Cora sighs deeply and keeps on fiddling with the braid between her fingers for a few seconds, but she ultimately gives into Braeden's stern glare. She jumps over the back of the couch and flops besides Braeden. She crosses her arms and starts clinking the bar on her tongue against the back of her teeth obnoxiously.

"You know, in my neighborhood, you were the one to whine to your hairdresser, not the other way around," Braeden jokes. Cora snorts.

"Go ask Derek to braid your hair, asshole," she mumbles, but she's smiling. Braeden smiles, goes to ruffle her hair and then scratches the shaved side of Cora's head just above her ear. Cora sighs and slowly relaxes her shoulders.

"I'll have you know, your brother is excellent with twists and locs."

"And an useless piece of shit when it comes to braids, I've suffered his attempts!" Cora retorts. Braeden doesn't deny it.

"So, will you tell me what's up, or do you want to pout some more?"

Cora seriously considers the second option for a short moment. Maybe she can whine and complain until all the gross feelings go away, and go back to a life where the idea of making out with Lydia Martin doesn't make her blush like an idiot.

“I think I, like, like a girl,” Cora finally admits, and Braeden’s delighted grin doesn’t ease any of Cora’s embarrassment. “Oh, fuck off,” she mutters, but it only makes Braeden laugh. Cora scowls at their reflection until Braeden puts on a more serious demeanor, and only then does she speak again. “I’ve been trying to tell her, but it’s super annoying and complicated.”

“Your sexuality and your boundaries aren’t _annoying,_ dumbass,” Braeden says, and her light punch on Cora’s arm is kind of comforting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

“Erica says she does, but I can never tell,” Cora answers, and shrugs. Braeden just smiles.

“If she does, there’s nothing complicated about it. Leave complicated for rom-coms, things are easier when you just say what you need to say.”


	5. Fluorescent Adolescent

Lydia Martin is a lot of things but above all she’s pragmatic. Pragmatic as hell (and damn it, Cora’s way of talking is rubbing off on her). Pragmatism means not signing up for poetry contests when she knows she’s a shit writer, not buying dresses that will make her legs look short (no matter how cute they are) and, especially, not falling for people who will never fall for her. That's why she doesn't understand this illogical, impractical, endlessly annoying crush on Cora Hale. It doesn't make any sense, but it won't go away.

Lydia doesn't like to think of herself as belonging anywhere in the aro spectrum, really. It's just that she doesn't like dudes in romantic ways and rarely feels romantic attraction towards any other person, either; but she prefers to think of it as 'practicality'. Romance is time-consuming, tiring and very rarely gives her any kind of reward or satisfaction. She’s more convinced of this than ever before. Mostly, because this is probably the first time she’s felt something like this.

Her phone pings with a new alert, and Lydia unlocks it to see a new snapchat from Allison. There is a dimpled smile, half hidden by a book, with the caption "guess who found a bilingual edition!" Lydia grins at the screen. Instead of answering with another picture, she goes to the dialer and calls Allison.

"Hey! I'm at the mall with Erica and Danny, want to join us?"

Lydia doesn't need to look twice at the Spanish homework she'd been ignoring.

"Wait for me with coffee."

 

* * *

 

“Breaking news: human interaction is hard and I’m a piece of shit,” Cora announces, keeping her voice monotone. Boyd turns around and leans over the back of his chair to smile at her.

“Did calculus bring this revelation?” He asks, as Cora starts copying the next part of their assignment. Mr. Harris is turned towards the board and the whole classroom is buzzing with muttered conversations, so they can speak freely. Cora sighs.

“I had an enlightening talk with my lovely sister-in-law, but somehow I’m still stuck here,” Cora mumbles. Scott, who’s sitting next to her, leaves their pencil aside and leans over the side of their desk.

“Malia’s been saying that you should just go for it and kiss her and, this time, I have to agree,” they comment. Malia, sitting at the first row, turns around to give Cora a thumbs up. Next to the window, Stiles is gesturing and calling “hey! What are you talking about!” in the loudest possible whisper. Mr. Harris doesn’t allow Malia, Scott and Stiles to sit anywhere near to each other.

“That’s a dumb idea. Why have you been talking about me?”

Scott tries to act all innocent, but Erica’s quick to tap Cora’s shoulder and proudly admit that the entire group has been betting over her and Lydia’s relationship for a week now.

“I haven’t,” Boyd and Scott say in unison. “I have!” Stiles calls, making a few heads turn towards him. “I am sorry, though,” Boyd says. Cora raises her eyebrows.

“What for?”

“For loving me more,” Erica says, “and distracting you”. Cora is quick to turn around, but it’s too late. Erica is proudly holding Cora’s phone in her hand, and the screen shows that a text has just been sent.

 

* * *

 

 **From: Cora [14:24hrs.]** “ _need to tell u something very important_ ”

 

Lydia taps the little speech bubble with her thumb repeatedly, until a sign offering to delete the text shows up. She huffs, presses ‘no’, keeps on fidgeting with her phone until the sign appears again.

“Sorry I kept you waiting!” Cora calls from behind her, and Lydia’s heart skips a beat. The first thing she notices when she turns around is that Cora’s wearing her hair down, all of it falling over the left side and covering the shaved part. She usually wears it in a high ponytail, symmetrical and tight. Both styles look gorgeous on her.

The little ring beneath her upper lip shines when she smiles brightly at Lydia and, god, yeah, Lydia is probably a little in love (ugh). Cora’s smile quickly fades into a grimace, though. Lydia remembers she had been worrying about that stupid text up until three seconds ago.

“I’m sorry. About that dumb text, it was Erica being a dickhead,” Cora says before anything else, and Lydia already feels a wave of relief wash over her. She has an overactive mind and can’t help but think of everything that could go wrong at any given moment ( _Is Cora in trouble? Did she realize I’m actually a bad person and decided she doesn’t want to hang out with me? Did something happen to her? Did she find out I have, like, feelings for her and now hates me?_ ). Cora’s next words set her brain in overdrive all over again. “But I do need to talk to you.”

Cora probably notices Lydia’s worry, though. She moves closer, shifts so the helmet she’s holding in hand hangs from her elbow; crosses her arms.

“It’s super dumb, though,” Cora assures. She sounds embarrassed. Lydia looks around the hall, at the few last students picking up their stuff, and smiles at Cora with an ease she doesn’t really feel.

“I’m sure it’s not, but let’s get out of here first.”

 

* * *

 

Cora has a speech prepared. Kinda. Well, she has a vague idea of what she wants to say and absolutely no idea of how she wants to say it, but whatever. She’s going to stop acting like a loser. As soon as she’s done with coffee.

The coffee-maker beeps to announce it’s done brewing, and Cora glares at it. Lydia, sitting on the counter besides her, laughs. “What has the poor thing done to you?” Lydia jokes, as Cora keeps on scowling. Lydia’s heels click against the tiles when she jumps down from the counter and starts pouring the two coffees herself.

Lydia disappears towards the living room with the two mugs and Cora stays behind, trying to blame her internal struggles on the coffee machine. After a few seconds, Lydia’s “Come on, Hale, or I’m gonna drink all the coffee by myself,” snaps her out of it. She imagines Erica calling her a nerd as a way to try and will some courage into herself. It works better than expected.

They sit together on the couch and sip their coffees in silence for just a moment. Cora sets her mug aside, takes a super deep breath, tries to find the words.

“I’ve kinda grown to think that the whole ‘dating’ thing is useless,” Lydia says, before Cora can actually start putting what’s going on her mind into words. Cora raises her eyebrows, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Is this Lydia realizing that Cora likes her and trying to let her down easily? As she’s said before (repeatedly) human interaction is hard. “I mean, I had? Like, romance is a stupid social construct and the only relationships I’ve been in were because it was easy, or convenient, or because I felt like I had to,” Lydia continues, and she’s got her sight fixed on her mug instead of looking at Cora. “I don’t think that when I’m with you, though,” she mutters.

She looks up, and the blush on her cheeks is doing that thing to her freckles again. Cora curses her cousin, then goes and takes her advice. That being, she leans forward, closes her eyes and prays this is as good in practice as it is in theory. Her mouth brushes softly against Lydia’s lower lip, just a caress before she’s regretting it and pulling back.

She’s expecting to open her eyes and find Lydia frowning at her, or telling her she’s a shit listener and completely missed the point of what Lydia was saying; but Lydia is just _really, really_ red. Like, crimson up to her hairline and probably not breathing. Cora says the first thing that comes to her mind.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

Lydia can hear Laura and Braeden blasting [Daddy Yankee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WH9uQGDDnaY) down at the garage, but the sunset over the preserve is warm and red and Cora is smiling like an idiot, so she doesn’t complain. Cora is smiling _at her_ , and it looks like she’s shaking a little but they’ve had four coffees each already. The mugs are waiting for them on the floor next to the couch, but they’re too comfortable to get up for a refill now.

Cora threads her fingers through Lydia’s hair, both of them finally just enjoying the silence after a long and _serious_ talk that turned out not be as complicated as any of them expected. Lydia’s a pragmatic person, she doesn’t have time to keep wasting on the whole ‘the plot doesn’t move forward because they just refuse to talk about their feelings’ cliché.

“Did I mention that I hate holding hands with a passion?” she asks, and Cora’s laughter echoes in the apartment. Cora likes kisses on the neck and people scratching her head when she just shaved; but doesn’t feel comfortable with nudity and definitely despises kissing in public. Lydia loves rubs up her calves and is willing to commit murder if she gets tickled. Cora keeps playing with her hair.

“Good, me too.”


	6. Common People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise I would add a sixth chapter. There might be a seventh coming. I'm so sorry. Translation for the Spanish lines at the end!

Cora stops at the red light, digging her heels into the asphalt with a little too much force. She lifts her helmet and turns to the side just in time to see Lydia glaring at her through tinted glasses as her car comes to a stop. Cora lets go of the handlebar to wave and throw a cheeky grin her way.

"It's not my fault your ride is shit," Cora yells, just loud enough to be heard over the two engines. She can see Lydia's red nails beating furiously against the steering wheel. Even from a few feet away, she can see Lydia's pursed lips slowly loosen into a smirk. She checks her hair in the rearview mirror before dignifying Cora's comment with an answer.

"It's not my fault you have a Fast & Furious obsession," Lydia finally calls back. The light is still red, and Cora raises her middle fingers in Lydia's direction. Another car stops on Cora's other side, and the driver looks at them with obvious curiosity. Lydia ignores them, keeps smirking at Cora until the light goes green.

"You look like a nerd with your helmet like that, Hale!" Lydia yells after her as she speeds up. Cora adjusts her helmet back on and kicks the pedal.

 

* * *

 

"¡Ey, belleza!" Cora calls, trying and failing to sound seductive. She can see just the corner of Lydia's smile in the mirror, but the rest of the reflection is hidden by Lydia herself, who acts indifferent and continues carefully putting on make up. "Come on, ya estás preciosa!" Cora insists. Lydia keeps on ignoring her and Cora drops herself on the bed face-first, groaning loud and dramatically.

"Are you actually twelve?" Lydia asks, smiling fondly at Cora's antics in the mirror. Cora groans into the pillows and Lydia's smile just widens. She finishes putting on mascara without making any ridiculous faces in the process (an art Cora's never been able to master), applies her lip gloss while checking her phone, and quickly fixes the curls that fall around her face. It's less than a minute, but Cora manages to shift, groan and threaten to hide all of Lydia's makeup about a hundred times in that span.

"You are actually twelve," Lydia reaffirms as she turns around. Cora shifts again, moves until she's laying face up on the bed, and raises her two hands in Lydia's direction, fingers spread up.

"I'm ten," she answers, trying very hard to look serious; and then reaches under her own head, grabs a throw pillow and aims for Lydia's head. Lydia lets out a short, shrill screech as she raises her hands over her face, but she's lucky enough that the pillow hits her open hands. She snatches it from the air before it drops to the floor, and glares at her girlfriend. "You're dead, Hale."

Cora smiles at her. "The competition starts in eleven minutes," she says, raising her eyebrows. Lydia squints at her as she lowers the pillow.

"You're just delaying the inevitable," Lydia threatens. "Get up, Danny's gonna kill me if I'm late."

 

Not a single person in the entire hall is as well dressed as Lydia, but that was already a given. What Cora can't understand is how such a big group of people can manage to look like the exact same brand of loser. She's seen enough anime merchandising for a lifetime in just thirty seconds.

She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls menacingly at all the idiot college dudes wearing fedoras that stare at Lydia's cleavage without an ounce of subtlety. Lydia could probably stab them with one of her heels at any moment, but Cora wants to save her the hassle. That, and she really enjoys the way people cower at the sight of her tattooed forearms and furrowed brows.

There's a guy who looks like Stiles' long lost brother (but with a slightly more _normal_ hair and no rips on his jeans) with so many Batman logos on his clothing that Cora might just melt out of annoyance. There is a person who's probably in their early twenties, wearing a Naruto headband. Everyone else is an average level of geeky (Stiles and Erica could surely out-nerd a good half of the attendants), but that doesn't make up for Batman Dude.

"Stop trying to intimidate the kids," Lydia scolds her, even though she's facing away from Cora. "And don't try and deny it," Lydia adds, before she can speak up. Cora groans loudly, but can't help her smile. "I see Danny! Do you mind?" Lydia asks, motioning to hook her arm around Cora's elbow.

"Not at all, lead the way," Cora assures, and lets herself be dragged through the crowd, watching with amusement as her girlfriend shamelessly elbows everyone on the ribs to make them move out of the way.

 

The first round is about to start, but it's not their turn yet. They can see what's going on on the screens, but Cora doesn't see what's so exciting about this. She prefers real, human boxing. It's more aesthetically pleasing and infinitely more thrilling. This? This is bullshit.

There is a thing that looks like a box with wheels smashing into another thing (this one looks like a pyramid) repeatedly, as a crowd of losers yells and cheers. Cora’s eyes are rolling so far back into her head she might actually be seeing her brain right now. And Lydia? Lydia is screeching. Clutching Danny’s arm and leaning all of her weight on Cora’s shoulder as she tries to keep herself from jumping the plastic barrier in excitement. When the pyramid-looking thing starts pushing back against the box, Cora wonders if Lydia might scream herself unconscious.

The pyramid’s top opens up and a little thing that definitely looks like a laser canon comes out of it. It’s a fucking laser canon. “It’s a fucking laser canon,” she says, out loud. Lydia beams at her. “And we’re gonna destroy it,” she says, digging her nails into Cora’s shoulder out of pure excitement.

Cora has to admit, after the second round, that this dumbass game has its charm. The thing (“Robot, it’s a robot,” Danny insists, but Cora rolls her eyes and repeats “thing” over and over again in her most monotonous voice), the thing looks like a weird ass sphere and it’s in flames. This is fun. Even if her shoulder is in pain.

“We’re up next, we’re up next,” Lydia says, trying to sound calm and controlled. She fails miserably, but Danny seems to be used to it. “And next, the ‘Sharknado’ is up against the ‘GLaDOS’!” a voice announces through the speakers, and Cora just prays Lydia’s robot isn’t ‘Sharknado’.

“It’s the villain from a videogame,” Danny clarifies. His childish, excited grin matches Lydia's. This is terrible. Cora can't keep on watching such embarrassment unfold. With a dramatic groan, she looks away.

They apparently drive their robots into the arena by remote control, but the things are supposed to be automatic. Cora knows that Danny's smart, but she's also heard Lydia talking about how they're going up against, among others, the Artificial Intelligence team from one of the most exclusive colleges in California. She doesn't imagine Sharknado is the robot everyone fears so much. It has teeth painted on its front, after all.

Danny directs GLaDOS to its side of the arena, then leaves the remote control on the banister separating them from the arena, where everyone can see it. The opposite team, sitting about ten people away from them, does the same.

Cora crosses her arms and leans back on her seat, while Lydia and Danny both lean forward against the banister. The referee calls the start of the round, and the audience sitting on the stands behind them instantly goes a little wild.

The Sharknado has a chainsaw. Danny and Lydia have matching smirks on their faces. "Please don't tell me you have a laser cannon too," Cora mutters. When Lydia turns to give her a quick kiss on the mouth, Cora can feel her smile against her lips.

 

* * *

 

"You taste like an ashtray," Lydia complains right after breaking the kiss. Cora groans, makes a face in Lydia’s direction and sits back on the couch. “Find someone else to make out with,” she says, and she doesn’t mean to snap at Lydia, but it doesn’t sound like a joke. Lydia frowns and moves so that her thigh isn’t brushing against Cora’s.

A few seconds pass while they just glare at their hands, but they’ve had this dumbass argument before. “Sorry,” Lydia says; and Cora echoes her with just one second of delay. They can’t help but to smile at each other, they can’t help but to turn the casual glance into a staring competition.

“You know what? I’m gonna make more coffee,” Lydia announces, but she’s reluctant to look away. Cora grins. “You’re childish,” Lydia says. She still holds Cora’s stare, and Cora’s grin grows wider.

“What are you two up to?” Braeden asks, and they’ll both be arguing about who won later, but the two of them look at her now. Derek is looking at them with his eyebrows raised and what Lydia likes to call his Douchey Big Bro look. Cora rolls her eyes in their direction.

“Lydia was helping me study for my SATs,” she answers, and Braeden smiles sweetly at them. She offers to bring them coffee, and drags Derek along with her before he can be any more embarrassing. As soon as they’ve disappeared into the kitchen, Cora turns to glare at her books.

“How about this? You can have _one more_ cigarette before brushing your teeth and getting back to work,” Lydia suggests. Cora smiles at her, and sneaks in a kiss before Lydia can move away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning of the second scene, Cora says "Hey, gorgeous!" and later tells Lydia that she "already looks beautiful."


	7. A not-very-punk Mixtape

[won't you come over](?utm_medium=trax_embed) from [maraudercracker](?utm_medium=trax_embed) on [8tracks Radio](http://8tracks.com?utm_medium=trax_embed).

 

**Won't you come over** , by _Devendra Banhart_   
**Fluorescent Adolescent** , Arctic Monkeys cover by _Kate Nash_   
**If you're wondering if I want you too** , alternative version by _Weezer_ ft. Sara Bareilles   
**Locomotora** , by _El Otro Yo_   
**Don't Matter** , Akon cover by _Fall Out Boy_   
**Young Folks** , Peter, Bjorn and John cover by _The Kooks_   
**Baila Esta Cumbia** , by _Selena_   
**It Takes a Muscle** , Spectral Display cover by _M.I.A._   
**La Isla Con Chikas** , Madonna cover by _Kumbia Queers_   
**Never Been In Love** , by _Cobra Starship_ ft. Icona Pop   
**Love Like Mine** , by _Joan Jett & The Blackhearts_   
**Sleepless in London** , acoustic version by _Neon Jungle_   
**Arabella** , by _Arctic Monkeys_   
**Common People** , by _Pulp_

**Author's Note:**

> Again (because I'm an annoying lil shit), I'm at @ **[queerhawkeye](http://queerhawkeye.tumblr.com)** on tumblr and I really like talking about punk AUs.


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